Best Russian Short Stories eBook

Zorich, if I remember rightly. He was in despair.
My grandmother, who was always very severe upon the
extravagance of young men, took pity, however, upon
Chaplitzky. She gave him three cards, telling
him to play them one after the other, at the same
time exacting from him a solemn promise that he would
never play at cards again as long as he lived.
Chaplitzky then went to his victorious opponent, and
they began a fresh game. On the first card he
staked fifty thousand rubles and won sonika;
he doubled the stake and won again, till at last,
by pursuing the same tactics, he won back more than
he had lost ...

“But it is time to go to bed: it is a quarter
to six already.”

And indeed it was already beginning to dawn:
the young men emptied their glasses and then took
leave of each other.

II

The old Countess A——­ was seated
in her dressing-room in front of her looking—­glass.
Three waiting maids stood around her. One held
a small pot of rouge, another a box of hair-pins,
and the third a tall can with bright red ribbons.
The Countess had no longer the slightest pretensions
to beauty, but she still preserved the habits of her
youth, dressed in strict accordance with the fashion
of seventy years before, and made as long and as careful
a toilette as she would have done sixty years previously.
Near the window, at an embroidery frame, sat a young
lady, her ward.

“Good morning, grandmamma,” said a young
officer, entering the room. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle
Lise. Grandmamma, I want to ask you something.”

“What is it, Paul?”

“I want you to let me introduce one of my friends
to you, and to allow me to bring him to the ball on
Friday.”

“Bring him direct to the ball and introduce
him to me there. Were you at B——­’s
yesterday?”

“Yes; everything went off very pleasantly, and
dancing was kept up until five o’clock.
How charming Yeletzkaya was!”

“But, my dear, what is there charming about
her? Isn’t she like her grandmother, the
Princess Daria Petrovna? By the way, she must
be very old, the Princess Daria Petrovna.”

“How do you mean, old?” cried Tomsky thoughtlessly;
“she died seven years ago.”

The young lady raised her head and made a sign to
the young officer. He then remembered that the
old Countess was never to be informed of the death
of any of her contemporaries, and he bit his lips.
But the old Countess heard the news with the greatest
indifference.

“Dead!” said she; “and I did not
know it. We were appointed maids of honour at
the same time, and when we were presented to the Empress...”

And the Countess for the hundredth time related to
her grandson one of her anecdotes.

“Come, Paul,” said she, when she had finished
her story, “help me to get up. Lizanka,
where is my snuff-box?”

And the Countess with her three maids went behind
a screen to finish her toilette. Tomsky was left
alone with the young lady.